


Far More Trouble

by misscam



Category: Battlestar Galactica (2003)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-08-07
Updated: 2008-08-07
Packaged: 2017-10-17 12:52:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,228
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/177043
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/misscam/pseuds/misscam
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>They would be in far less trouble if it was just lust.</i> [Adama/Roslin, slight implied Kara/Lee]</p>
            </blockquote>





	Far More Trouble

**Author's Note:**

> Pre-Maeelstrom to post-Revelations. Written on a challenge from lotus79, who asked me to include six objects (bonus points if you can guess what they are!) and a bit of Kara/Lee. Many thanks to the smashing lyricalviolet for beta, as always.

Far More Trouble  
(or Five Times Bill Adama Got Laid and One Time Lee Probably Did)  
by **misscam**

Disclaimer: Not my characters, just my words.

II

Frakking Laura Roslin, Bill used to think. Schoolteacher as President, forcing survival on them all and a partnership on him. Frakking Laura Roslin, nothing but trouble.

He really has no idea.

II

 _Mirror_

II

Bill thinks his son might be in trouble; he knows he certainly is.

Lee stands in a hallway on Galactica, a hand on Kara's shoulder, and a look on his face Bill knows all too well. He gives it too, and he knows what he feels when he does. It's love.

Lee loves Kara. But Lee married Dee and Kara married Anders and Bill can only watch and wonder. Kara, like a daughter to him and Lee, a son sometimes like a stranger and somewhere in the shadows the ghost of Zak.

When Kara tilts her head to touch Lee's hand briefly with her cheek, Bill thinks he knows what she feels too.

They would be in far less trouble if it was just lust.

"Admiral?" Laura says, and he remembers he's a little late for a meeting with her and she's probably come looking for him.

"Madam President," he says, and can't quite meet her eyes. He feels her move next to him, and probably she sees what he sees, but she doesn't comment at first. She just makes a 'mmm' noise he knows too well, and has forgotten when he started to notice.

(Probably around the time he realised he would sleep with her one day, because excuses run out and she hasn't. He just pretends he doesn't know this.)

"You're late," Laura says, but he can hear the smile in her voice and wonders what it would take to make her laugh. He's pretty sure kissing her against the bulkhead wouldn't work too well, but it doesn't stop him from imagining it.

Maybe if he put a cat on his head first.

"Yes," he agrees, feeling her hand on his arm. "Am I in trouble?"

When he finally does look at her, he knows his face is a mirror of Lee's. She doesn't look away, and he thinks maybe he knows what she is mirroring too.

They would be in far less trouble if it was just lust. Lust can be satisfied; love lingers.

"Undoubtedly," she says.

II

 _Desperation_

II

Bill never gets the time to take his socks off.

The moment he closes the hatch, Laura is in his personal space, an invasion he isn't sure is an act of war or if he just surrendered a long time and she's only now gotten around to claim the victory. Her eyes are dark, watching his lips and he can feel the heat of her body through layers of cloth.

"Laura," he says mildly. It doesn't soften her expression, and her fingers are like claws on his uniform, not letting go.

"I'm going to die," she says. Her voice doesn't shake, but her hand does, a light tremor he can feel straight to his heart.

"You're not."

"You heard Doc Cottle."

"You're out of remission," he echoes, the words sounding bitter even to him. "That isn't a death sentence, Laura. There are still treatments..."

Her kiss isn't a caress, it's taking his words from him before she's forced to consider them and her lips are hard against his. He remembers faintly the first time he kissed her, a moment born out of tenderness and respect and grief. She is denying all of that now, and she tastes so strongly of desperation he almost steps back.

Not like this, Laura, he doesn't think, because he doesn't know what it should be like, still in the early chapters of Laura Roslin and Bill Adama's story. Still figuring it out, still reading her. He refuses to think they're nearing an epilogue. She is, but he's always fought her when needed too.

She exhales, lifting a hand to the row of buttons on his uniform and looking at them rather than his face. He leans his forehead against hers for a moment, watching her fingers too. They unbutton slowly, lithely, and he doesn't hinder her.

"My body won't be my own anymore," she says. "It will belong to cancer and Diloxin. Before that, I want..."

He kisses the words from her, feeling her sharp intake of breath as she parts her lips and yes, she wants. She tugs at his bottom lips, draws her tongue across his teeth, breathes into him in a long, ragged exhale. He wants to brush his fingers through her hair, but she pins his arms to his side as she peels the uniform jacket off him. A breath, and she lifts his arms to pull his tank tops off too, breaking the kiss for as long as it takes but no more.

Her hands are already at his buckle, a thumb slipped beneath his waistband, the nail scraping against his skin. She's going to leave marks, he faintly thinks, and doesn't care. He might even enjoy it.

She steps; he follows, kissing her neck all the while and trusting her for direction. Her pulse seems to race against his lips, and her collarbone is as hard against his teeth as her skin is soft, a contrast that feels like her and tastes like salt. She groans and digs her fingers into his shoulder when she backs into a wall and he follows, pressing against her. They seem to have missed his rack by a few feet, a fact that doesn't seem to trouble her when he slips a hand up her skirt and feels heat against his palm.

She hisses as his fingers stroke; her own finally unbuckling and pushing his pants and underwear down. He has to balance a little to step out of them, kicking his shoes off at the same time. He doesn't think about his socks, not when Laura pushes his hand away and discards her underwear in one smooth motion. It's hardly undressing, but it is enough and he lifts her, feeling the curve of her ass as she hooks her legs around him.

Her cancer leaves her naked enough even when clothed, he thinks, watching her close her eyes, a little moisture clinging to her lashes. He remembers. He was there for round one.

When he thrusts into her, her hair falls around his face and her cheek is blazing against his, the heat of her skin strangely more intimate than anything else.

II

 _Challenge_

II

There are a lot of ways to get laid, the years have taught Bill Adama. But he has to admit 'by executive order' is a first for him.

"Frak me," Laura says again, leaning against her desk, her palms resting on the wood. Her voice is even and calm, but her body is angry and her gaze could flatten several Cylons by the mere force of it. Right. He knew she wouldn't be happy getting the 'military decision' excuse from him for making a call without her. Not now, not with the Quorum already challenging her.

He isn't about to, and he steps up to her.

"Don't tell me sex is a military decision," she warns, removing his glasses with a deft hand.

"Only when done in the CIC."

"Maybe next time."

He has time to consider that for a fleeting second before she kisses him, strangely soft for all the anger in her. Perhaps she isn't really angry with him after all and he's just an easier target than the Quorum. It's hard to hit democracy where it hurts; it doesn't even have balls.

Bill does, and he tries not to make an undignified noise when Laura cups a feel through cloth. He counters by lifting her and perching her on the desk, lifting her knee high enough to kiss it. She relaxes a little as he traces the underside with his fingers, slowly moving up to her thigh.

"No one will walk in," she says to his unasked question. "They all think I'm giving you a dressing down."

"You've always been a very literal woman," he says, keeping his voice even. She just raises an eyebrow.

"You're still dressed, Admiral. Remedy that before I have you thrown in the brig."

He does; failing a little at making it dignified with Laura regarding him like a cat ready to pounce. The cancer hasn't changed the strength of will in her, just the direction of it. It isn't just her hair that is darker, but she is still gentle when she kisses him again.

Sometimes, he wonders if he's the only one who still sees that in her. Sometimes, he is afraid to consider what that means.

He removes her shirt and skirt carefully, she snaps her bra off without much ceremony. Her nipples are already hard in the slightly cool air, and she sighs when he lowers his head to gently suck. She bucks a little and whimpers in the same breath when he moves his mouth between her legs, and he hears a faint thump when one stack of papers fall down from the desk.

Her flesh is flushed and warm against his mouth, her knee bumps a little into his shoulder; everything else seems not quite to register in his mind. Even Zarek would walk in unnoticed about now.

That isn't a challenge.

Laura is, pushing herself up a little and lifting his head up to look at her. Her eyes are so dark he can't read them, but her intention is clear as she braces herself with one hand against the desk and one leg hooked around him.

He slides into her slowly, watching her face, at least until he notices papers aren't the only thing on her desk.

"Why do you have a hammer on your desk?" he manages, his voice breaking a little.

"Reporters," she murmurs, and he isn't sure he wants to know. He does know he'd like to move, and she rests her head on his shoulders as he does, breathing across his skin.

It fits, he thinks faintly. Him in her and her with him, adjusting to the other until all the space in his life seems to be hers and she's moved in while he wasn't looking.

It fits; and he comes with a very rude exclamation Laura just laughs at.

II

 _Faith_

II

Bill awakes to a wrong assumption.

His bathrobe smells of her. Laura Roslin, summer and sickness and something he can never quite categorize and always seems strongest on her hands. Since he can't feel her close, as sleep fades and some sense of surrounding arrives, he can only assume the smell of her has seeped into his bathrobe.

As first assumptions often go, it's wrong. It isn't his, he discovers. It's hers.

Her bathrobe, tucked around him like a makeshift blanket. He remembers her nightly visit, and offering her his rack to sleep in. He took the couch, and sometime during the night she must have decided he would be cold.

It is strange how much affection can feel like hurt, he thinks, feeling his breath catch. It's such a little thing. Like sharing a dream in the middle of a night just because the other will listen. Like sharing fears over a glass of water just because the other will understand. Like giving words just because they're true.

 _You made me believe._

"Good morning," she says, and he lifts her head to see her still in his quarters, leaning slightly against a wall. She's borrowed his shower, he can tell, moisture still vaporizing from her skin. She's borrowed one of his shirts too, a little too large for her. Only the scarf is the same, tied loosely around his head and he has an irrational urge to want to see her without.

"I thought you'd left," he says, getting to his feet.

She shakes her head, the scarf moving slightly as she does. "It's still early."

He nods, taking her word for it, watching her as she walks up to him, her feet naked against his floor.

"Bill," she says, and hesitates, clearly searching for words. "You've been... Thank you."

Her kiss is cool against his cheek, but lingering, and he puts his hands on her elbows. A half embrace, and for a few seconds it just holds, teetering between distance and intimacy.

Intimacy wins, and she steps into him, moving her lips to the side of his mouth. Her breath smells of his toothpaste as she gently exhales, and he breathes in this strange sense of bond. Her nose brushes against his as he tilts his head, almost like a kiss too before their lips follow.

She hums into the kiss; he holds his breath to feel only hers.

Laura, he thinks, and it sounds strangely triumphant in his head.

He lowers his hands, lifting the shirt to trace the bone of her hip with a thumb. A little higher, and he can feel her ribs, noting how thin she is and deciding to feed her a very large breakfast later. Higher still, and her breasts feel heavy against his palms.

For a fleeting second, he thinks of her cancer, alien and part of her at the same time. She tenses slightly, almost as if she senses where his mind is going, and he keeps the kiss gentle and tender, willing her to understand it doesn't matter to him. Not in that way. No hair, cancer and needle bruises on her skin, she's still Laura.

She must understand, because she makes that noise she makes and almost shoves him back on the couch. He has time to crack a grin before she straddles him, and the smile she flashes back at him makes her eyes seem so bright it's almost blinding. She cradles his face in her hands and he can't look away, can only feel the weight and warmth of her provoke a very predictable bodily response.

She smiles at that too, lowering a hand and pushing herself up at the same time. He has to count vipers when she wriggles his underwear off, and raptors when she traces the length of him, and when she gets the angle right and lowers herself again the only ship big enough he can think of is Galactica.

He manages to bite an exclamation of it back; he isn't sure how Laura would take to hearing frakking her makes him think of his ship.

It might be worth it still just to see her laugh.

She doesn't laugh now; he watches the blood rush to her face, the way her eyelids lower a little and how her breasts move against the cloth of his shirt as she finds a rhythm and adjusts to the size of him.

"Bill?" she murmurs, lacing her fingers in his hair as he lowers his head against her chest, just breathing as she moves. "You made me stay."

He isn't sure what she means, and doesn't ask; it is enough it means something to her to tell him.

II

 _Avalanche_

II

Bill has thought about getting laid on Earth, but not like this.

It was always warm in his head, summer and sun and suave; Laura in a bright red dress and her hair redder still, beckoning him. There was always grass, tall enough to hide in and soft enough to lie on. There was always her laughter, always most of all.

There are her tears. He's kissed them from her cheek, feeling the salt of them mix with the ashen bitterness of disappointment. There isn't grass, and the tent around them doesn't hold the same green. There isn't any warmth of the sun, and the only heat is shared between bodies and the hot-water bottle both rest their feet on.

He thinks maybe he initiated this, slipping beneath the blanket to join her, offering comfort in presence and finding there isn't much at all. Even now, hard inside her and her teeth biting down on his shoulder, she doesn't feel here at all.

He can't claim her back, not when he feels lost himself, and he claims her lips in a hard kiss instead. She makes a noise deep in her throat, and he feels like howling. Too much. It's all too much.

Kara, lost and found and looking as if her skin isn't her own. Lee, slipping away and still it feeling like they never quite connected. Laura, who he loves and almost lost and might still lose. Saul, the Cylon. Earth.

It's a bit like an avalanche coming to a halt, emotions crushing down and her muscles clenching around him and everything for a moment so still; a breath and he falls, her mouth swallowing his cry.

They keep the silence after, another blanket that doesn't shield much at all.

II

 _Trouble_

II

Bill loves Laura's legs. Currently, one of them appears to be very happy to make his acquaintance too.

She's resting on his couch, her eyes half closed as he massages the feet she's carefully placed in his lap. Every now and then, she'll arch them a little when he finds a sensitive spot, and every time she exhales a little.

She's thinking, so is he. They have decisions to make – where to go from here, how to hold the Fleet together now, how to give hope when having none to spare.

"Is this it, Bill?" she asks, not watching him. "Is this what we're meant to find? Is this how we're meant to end?"

"No."

He doesn't have any particular authority to tell her that, but she still seems to accept it, nodding slowly.

"I don't think anyone will be sending postcards from Earth," she remarks, and he can't help but chuckle and she can't help but laugh, even if it's a little forced.

"I love you," he says, because he does. "We'll find something."

She moves, putting a hand on his cheek as she places herself on his lap and watches him seriously.

"I already have something," she says, her eyes bright even with tears in them. He can only kiss her, feeling strangely devoid of breath. The Admiral and the President, so many obligations elsewhere. It would be far less trouble if it wasn't love.

It would be far more empty too. Love stays, and she's still here.

When he pulls back, she doesn't let him.

"You're going to get laid, Bill Adama," she informs him, breath hot in his ear, and tongue flickering against his earlobe just for a moment.

Yes. He rather thinks he is.

II

Frakking Laura Roslin, Bill used to think. Schoolteacher as President, forcing survival on them all and a partnership on him. Adama, the soldier, and Roslin, the civilian, not dancing to the same tune but facing the same music. Roslin, the one he kept the lie of Earth with, the one who started believing it, the one who made it a truth. Roslin, who he fought with and then against and then with again. Laura, the woman he learned to respect, the friend he grew to treasure, the partner he came to have, the love he found at the end of the world.

Frakking Laura Roslin, Bill used to think. Frakking Laura Roslin, Bill just does.

II

FIN


End file.
